


don't be a stranger

by robin_hoods



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Banter, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Meet-Cute, mild harassment, missing the bus leads to Good Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 20:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20784617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robin_hoods/pseuds/robin_hoods
Summary: “I have pretty good taste in fake boyfriends,” Richie says. “Ex or not.” Eddie’s mouth twitches until it curves up into a smile. Richie iselated.“Do you?”“My last fake boyfriend was just the cutest thing! About yay high,” he holds up a hand, “brown eyes, dark hair, could murder someone with one look.”





	don't be a stranger

**Author's Note:**

> i hope this will be received well. first fic in this fandom, so. yeah. hi? :)

Richie has approximately three minutes left to catch his bus, and if he doesn’t run his legs out from under his ass, he’s going to watch it turn the street corner, leaving him miserable and wet for another whole hour before the next bus shows up. If he’s lucky.

He almost slides away in a puddle, his sneakers getting more soggy by the second, and tries with all his might to tell the bus driver telepathically to _please fucking wait for him_.

Maybe if he’d taken up Bill’s suggestion to start running ages ago, he wouldn’t be having a stitch in his side, or feel the need to throw up while his heart ran a mile a minute. Across the street, the bus slows for the stop, and Richie crosses without looking both ways – immediately punished by the sound of screeching tires and an angry honk from the driver. Richie flips him off and jogs to the other side, this time making sure he’s not about to be run over.

He holds up his hand, complete with floppy bus ticket and waves, trying to get the driver’s attention. “No! Stop!” he (very nearly) shrieks when it pulls up, driving away _without_ Richie Tozier in one of the dry, warm seats. “Fuck!”

He resists the temptation to throw his bus ticket on the ground and stomp on it for good measure, because he still needs it.

He saunters over to the bus stop, frowning, and pushes his bus ticket inside his back pocket again. At the stop, he sighs. “This fucking sucks,” he mutters, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes, and trying (fruitlessly) to wipe his glasses with his wet sleeve, only making it worse. He should’ve worn his contacts today.

There are two other guys at the bus stop already, one with an umbrella (smart guy), the other sort of half under it half getting rained on. He has to duck his head a bit, because the umbrella isn’t held up high enough for him, and Richie suspects umbrella guy knows exactly what he’s doing.

“It’s just a drink,” the guy is saying, “what’ve you got to lose?”

Richie is very glad to not be at the receiving end of umbrella guy’s glare, because if it weren’t raining, Richie is fairly certain the other guy would be a puddle on the pavement. “No,” he simply says, dragging his eyes away. His tone indicates that this is his final answer, although tall guy appears not to get the memo.

“Geez, it’s just coffee. It’s not like I’m asking you to blow me.”

Umbrella guy steadfastly ignores the guy, and Richie internally applauds his self-control, because even with his glasses in the wet state they are, he can see the downward turn of his eyebrows. ‘You better hope you’re not asking for anything of the sort,’ that expression says.

Mr. Umbrella turns his face away just as the guy starts whining again, and his and Richie’s gazes meet. Silently, he raises his eyebrows, as if to say, ‘Can you believe this guy?’ Richie grimaces in sympathy. He knows _he_ can be annoyingly persistent when it comes to pursuing someone romantically, but even he knows how to read the room (even if that doesn’t necessarily equate to being able to keep his motormouth from running away from him).

“Look,” annoying guy says, “why don’t we just agree to a time and date, get to know each other better out of the office. I swear it’ll be different, Eddie!”

“Can you just—” Umbrella dude – Eddie – stops, shakes his head, and his eyes meet Richie’s again, his eyebrows significantly higher now. Richie hopes he’s correctly interpreting that as ‘For the love of God, save me from this idiot before I sock him in the eye.’

Richie can do that. He barely even has to think about it before words start falling out of his mouth that he improvises on the spot. “Wait, Eddie? Is that you?” For a moment, Eddie’s expression is completely bewildered as Richie approaches him, as if he buys into Richie’s bullshit before realizing he’s only making it up. “Don’t say you’ve already forgotten about me!” Richie places a hand against his chest, expression crestfallen. “If only I’d known _then_ you do that to all your ex-boyfriends!”

Eddie’s mouth opens and closes, before he exclaims “Oh!” an octave higher than he previously had. “Oh my God, no, of course I didn’t forget about you, you’re just—you look—um—different.”

“Like a drowned cat?” Richie helpfully supplies.

“Exactly,” Eddie says, the corners of his mouth creeping up.

Acting as if he’s only just noticed him, Richie turns his gaze to the other guy, who looks like a deer caught in the headlights. “You must be one of Eddie’s co-workers! I’m Richie, by the way.” The guy dumbly shakes his hand.

“This is Charlie,” Eddie says, carefully stepping sideways, and lifting the umbrella so it covers both him and Richie. Oh, _good_ man, Richie thinks, and smiles down at him.

“Lovely to meet you!” Richie exclaims, unable to help himself, slipping halfway into a hoity toity Voice without even meaning to. “Absolutely wonderful to make your acquaintance.”

Eddie puts a hand on his arm, getting his attention. “Did you just miss your bus?”

“Oh, yeah. Made a total fool out of myself while trying to catch it, too. Please tell me you didn’t see that.”

“I didn’t see that,” Eddie says, amusement visible in his eyes. “Hey, did you want to, uh, catch up?” He gestures behind him with his head. “Get something to drink? Coffee?”

Richie does not miss the look of insolence on Charlie the co-worker’s face – and thus, he cheerfully agrees. “Absolutely!” Conspiratorially, he leans closer to the co-worker. “If ya don’t mind – he’s the one that got away. Highschool sweetheart. Y’know what I mean?” Charlie blinks and slowly nods.

Richie turns back to Eddie, who is barely able to hide his mirth. “You ready?” Eddie says. And, okay, while this definitely hadn’t been in the plans, Richie can always catch a later bus.

Eddie is a perfect gentleman and holds the door to the coffeeshop open for him before he folds his umbrella. They sit at a table further in the back, and Richie is grateful for the hot air blasting from the heater behind his chair. Eddie shrugs off his jacket and then holds out his hand, looking at him expectantly. “Your glasses,” he says. “I doubt you can get those dry, given how soaked you are.”

Richie takes them off, and squints at the blur in front of him. It _looks_ like Eddie is cleaning his glasses, but then again he could be doing anything right now and Richie wouldn’t be able to tell.

Eddie’s blurry face comes closer, then sharpens when he puts the glasses back on Richie’s nose. “That should be better.”

“Much,” Richie says. “I can actually _see you_ now.” Eddie laughs, and Richie gets a good first look at him. He’s cute. Criminally so. No wonder Charlie the co-worker wanted to hit that.

“How bad is your eyesight?”

“Bad enough that I could’ve mistaken you for my old English high school teacher, who was in his fifties and had a terrible comb-over. You’re definitely an improvement!”

“I hope so,” Eddie says, “considering you’re my fake ex-boyfriend and all.” They both order drinks, and then Eddie angles himself forward on the table.

“I have pretty good taste in fake boyfriends,” Richie says. “Ex or not.” Eddie’s mouth twitches until it curves up into a smile. Richie is _elated_.

“Do you?”

“My last fake boyfriend was just the cutest thing! About yay high,” he holds up a hand, “brown eyes, dark hair, could murder someone with one look.”

Eddie snorts, and quickly takes a drink from his coffee – Richie assumes because he’s trying to hide his blush. Which isn’t working. Richie delightfully tells him so, and Eddie blushes even darker.

“You could’ve just… I don’t know, you didn’t have to tell him you’re my ex,” Eddie says.

“Well, as my friends would say, I only have to open my mouth and trash falls out. I can’t help myself. I just talk and talk and talk, and I see people’s expression slowly turning horrified, but I still can’t stop. It’s a bad habit.”

“You’re not so bad right now,” Eddie teases him. “And it’s not like I didn’t appreciate it. He’ll definitely leave me alone now. Good riddance.”

“I aim to please,” Richie says with a grin, and Eddie shakes his head, unable to keep himself from smiling.

It’s true that Richie usually can’t stop himself from talking (It’s a disease, Stan told him at one point. Like verbal diarrhea? Richie had replied), but even he gets intimidated at times. For instance, when there’s a cute boy on a semi-coffee date with him, _willingly_, actually laughing at his jokes. That’s a first.

Eddie slowly puts his cup back down on the table. “Thanks, by the way. I’m pretty sure Charlie would’ve followed me home and expected to be invited inside for coffee if you hadn’t showed up.”

Richie whistles. “That bad?”

“You have no idea.” He took a sip from his coffee. “So, what do you do, when you’re not pretending to be an ex-boyfriend?”

“Would you believe me if I said that was my actual job?” Richie grins.

“But who would break up with a great guy like you?” Eddie says. He seems to be amusing himself.

Richie places a hand to his chest. “Eddie! Are you calling me attractive?”

Eddie snorts. “I meant your personality, you dipshit. Although I suppose you’ll do.”

“I don’t know whether to be offended or pleased,” Richie says.

Eddie smiles again. “You never actually answered my question.”

“Well, when I’m _not_ rescuing cute boys—” Eddie loudly snorts “—you can usually find me downtown in one of the comedy clubs.”

“You bartend?” Eddie asks.

Richie gasps. “No way! No one would ever give me a bottle of liquor willingly, I drop everything people hand me. I’m usually on the stage actually, just doing my thing. Making people laugh, sharing horrible shit about myself, talking about my problems the way I probably should to a therapist – you know, the usual.”

“You do have a penchant for running into strange situations, don’t you? From one problem into the next.” Eddie says.

“Well, I wouldn’t necessarily call this a problem. Pretty much the opposite, actually.”

“So what would you call a problem?”

Richie wiggles his eyebrows. “Not getting your number after this?”

Eddie laughs again. “Jesus, you sure lay it on thick, don’t you?”

“It’s my specialty!”

Eddie turns over a coaster on the table, whipping a pen out of nowhere. “There’s your number,” he says, sliding it to Richie’s side when he’s done.

“It’s not one of those phone sex lines, right?” Richie squints at the numbers.

“Trust me, if I didn’t want to give you my number, we wouldn’t have been sitting here.”

“Oh? Does that mean you actually _like me_?” Richie smirks. “The Tozier charm strikes again!”

“If by charming you mean _painfully_ endearing, then sure. Otherwise get your head out of your ass, you flirt.”

“I can think of other things that could be up my a—”

“Stop talking,” Eddie interrupts, “before I regret this.”

Richie leans further forward. “Something tells me you won’t. No matter what comes out of my mouth.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Eddie says. “I can still block you.”

“But you won’t.” Richie is very aware his grin is the definition of _shit-eating_. He can’t help himself, though.

“Try me,” Eddie says, smirking. Richie smirks back at him, and they stare at each other until finally, Richie looks away.

“Wouldn’t want to end up like Charlie the co-worker,” he says.

“He never had a shot,” Eddie says. “I don’t date co-workers.”

“Well, am I glad we aren’t!” Richie gleefully says.

Eddie slides his empty cup to the middle of the table. “So, does your repertoire only include fake boyfriends, or also real ones?” He smiles sweetly, and honest to god, Richie is getting weak in the knees. And he’s _sitting down_.

“Fake boyfriend, ex or not, fake uncle, fake son, fake neighbour – you name it, I’m your man.”

“Are you even old enough to be anybody’s uncle?” Eddie is shaking his head, although the smile hasn’t left his face. He’s been constantly smiling, and Richie likes it, a lot.

Richie shrugs. “I didn’t realise there was an age limit, Eds. But I don’t have any siblings, so I wouldn’t know.” He scratches his cheek, feeling slightly awkward all of a sudden.

“So am I,” Eddie says. “An only child,” he adds, at Richie’s confused look. “And don’t call me Eds. It’s not my name.” He pulls a few bills out of his wallet. “If I ever need a fake boyfriend, I’ll know where to look.”

“You regularly need fake boyfriends?” Richie asks.

Eddie snorts. “No. I don’t go looking for them, they usually offer on their own.” He offers Richie a smile. “I _am_ in the market for a real boyfriend, though. If you were wondering.”

“And if I was?” Richie tries to hide his blush by pushing up his glasses.

“Well,” Eddie says, “if you were, this was a nice first date. Don’t you think?”

Richie splutters. “I, uh—”

Eddie stands up from the table. “You’ve got my number. Call me. I’m looking forward to it already.” He winks at Richie, and disappears.

As soon as he’s gone, Richie looks down at Eddie’s number and smiles. At least he was lucky enough today to miss the bus.


End file.
